Before Everything and After
by sinfinity
Summary: When two men who need nothing from anyone in life finally realize they just might need each other, they’re inescapably damned. [RoyJean]
1. Before

Their first time was clumsy, and not due to lack of experience by either party. Their difference in sheer body size was an obstacle to them both one overcome with time and lots and lots of practice, but an obstacle nonetheless and there was urgency between them that might have been mistaken for passion.

Hands grasped for something, anything to fulfill their need for contact, and their mouths only searched for each other, like their hunger could only be satisfied by the other man's tongue against their's in the little dance that only lovers know. They _were_ lovers, and that first night in the hallway leading to the younger man's room they quite simply needed each other, right then and there.

Their throats moaned, and their hands wandered, and for a moment it seemed they wouldn't make it to the apartment door, as the significantly shorter man pinned the other against the wall, reached up to kiss him long and hard, _too_ hard, fisted his hands into that uniform jacket, and pulled away to say, low and raspy and breathless, "Fuck me, Jean."

There was nothing romantic about it when Havoc fumbled with his keys as the other man fumbled with Havoc's pants, when Jean opened the door and finally _FINALLY_ took Roy Mustang and pushed him flat on to the bed. There were no _I love you_s, no _baby_s or _honey_s or _dear_s as they undressed and learned each other's bodies.

But there was urgency – intensity, need, and maybe inevitability – like they'd been waiting their whole lives for this, and now they just wanted to get through it. Maybe they _had_ been waiting, but if time could have stopped and let them have that moment, _this_ moment forever…neither man would have minded.

Yet they worked against something, moving fast and hard together in the darkness. When Jean rubbed the palm of his hand up Roy's hard torso and followed that path with his tongue, Mustang arched his back, moaned lazily, and wrapped his fingers into Jean's messy hair. He pulled on the blonde mop, warranting a whimper that screamed of need, and pulled the younger man's face up to meet him. Their lips met hard, and Mustang turned the seemingly average kiss into a fierce show of want and desire and control. He drove his tongue deep into Jean's mouth, savored the mixed flavor of nicotine and obsession, and grinded into the larger man's body. Roy wrapped his arms around the broad shoulders above him, and Jean took that cue, slipped his arms underneath Roy's slighter frame, and rolled the two of them over.

Clumsily they shifted, and Havoc pulled the smaller, darker man into his lap. He reached up to Roy's face with his right hand, put two fingers against the thin lips and parted them, letting the older man suck deeply, coating his fingers in wetness. Throwing his head back against the headboard he moaned, "Please, Roy, please," but the dark eyes met him with a knowing, devious glare. A smirk wrapped around his fingers.

All Roy's teasing didn't last long and it was started and going before either of them really realized what happened. Jean followed commands well, but didn't honestly know what he was doing, though he would never admit it and he didn't even acknowledge it at the time. This impatient, frenzied act wasn't how he loved, and this wasn't how he acted. He'd had his share of lovers, but none of them were Mustang, nor did any of them have the sexual reputation of the acclaimed alchemist. And he never had the emotions, trust, and companionship riding on it that he did now.

From anyone else, he could just walk away the next morning. From Roy Mustang…he never would.

And in all that was going on, in all that was at stake in this night, he thought it was odd that things were progressing as they were. Maybe he should be being more careful, more caring; maybe he should be asking more questions, aiming to please more. To be truthful, Havoc didn't exactly think through his decision to let a simple kiss evolve into all that it was now.

But here he was, and his fingers were digging into Mustang's muscled hips that rocked in patterns Jean could have never imagined. Under normal circumstances he might have worried that his touch was too rough for his lover's liking…but having the luxury of being inside the beautiful, firm body of his superior wasn't exactly what Jean would call a normal circumstance. 

And so they went. And they fumbled through positions and the bed sheets and each other until their haste caught up to them and it was over all too soon. And when they had laid there together, their bodies wet and sticky, they said nothing.

Havoc had reached instinctively to his nightstand for a cigarette and his lighter, clicked it three times quickly, and breathed in the delicious nicotine. The relaxed silence surrounded the two men, and Havoc unintentionally found his eyes tracing along the smooth, defined muscles of Roy's torso and somehow landing on the thought of, _I can't believe this is happening. _

It was Mustang who spoke first, one leg hanging off the bed, the other lazily draped across Havoc's thigh, and his shadowy gaze out the third story window at the light whisps of clouds gliding across an otherwise clear night sky. He simply stated, "Hot in here," while still catching his breath.

There was no response, and though it was a new beginning for both of them, their silence felt like they'd had this comfort for years. And maybe they had.


	2. Everything

They weren't ready to tell everyone, or anyone for that matter, about their relationship, which was not to say they were embarrassed of themselves or each other, just that they knew what was best. Roy never had to say it – Jean knew he wasn't good for the Flame Alchemist's image.

For a while it was actually fun, the sort of 'forbidden fruit' thing was exciting, planning and plotting and making excuses. The sex was amazing; that same urgency they felt their first time became their driving force, because they had to take advantage of it while they could…at any time it could all crumble. Jean knew he was naïve for believing it never would, but he couldn't help that he felt nothing could go wrong when he was with Mustang.

That sounded stupid. He knew that. Which is why he never said a damn word about it…which is why Mustang was always too stupid to realize Jean loved him.

The fact was, they never spoke of love, because that was something neither one of them felt capable of.

Jean was never deserving of the emotion, never good enough to warrant that feeling from anyone else and thus felt it was useless to feel it for someone. What good was love if it went unmatched? And how did he even know this was love? Other than that he'd give his everything for Roy, for his attention, for his touch and his presence and his…just him. Surely that wasn't all love was…

Roy was unworthy of love, having caused too much pain to allow him the feeling. The wrongs he had done would never permit him to truly enjoy a person totally committed to him, totally willing to risk everything for his worthless life. And though Jean was always around, and had promised to follow him till the end of not just his, but _their_ days…he couldn't mean that, Roy figured. For as important and as beautiful as everyone thought Mustang was, he didn't deserve the dedication of a man like Jean Havoc.

So their relationship was distant, and that was not to say they were distant to each other, but only that they always seemed preoccupied with something. Maybe sometimes they were just wrapped up in avoiding the idea of love, but the great majority of the time their distraction happened to be each other.

They could have been the picture-perfect couple, the five-star example of true love and loyalty, and perhaps they were…only no one ever knew, because no one ever could.

Maes had known seemingly from the beginning, partly because it seems to be in the job description as a best friend to be able to pick up on these things, but mostly because being in Intelligence made it so he couldn't _not_ pick up on them. And when he realized one day what was going on between the two men, he simply walked into Roy's office, when the Colonel should have been going to lunch but wasn't, and said, "So. What are you and Lt. Havoc doing tonight?"

He'd said it innocently enough, but Roy knew better. The raven-haired alchemist just smirked, lowered his head in a defeated gesture, and sighed.

"We'll see." And he laughed a bit. That was all that was ever said about the matter, and as far as both Roy and Maes were concerned, that's all that was needed.

Heymans knew as well, though for almost an entirely different reason. Sure, as a best friend he could see it without Jean telling him, but more importantly Heymans had to know because Jean needed him to, or he simply couldn't have kept up with the charade otherwise. While Mustang was used to (and quite possibly _programmed_ to) be able to hide things and not feel, to say Havoc wore his heart on his sleeve could be nothing but an understatement.

So Breda was there. When a new girl in the office flirted with Roy, or the Colonel had to work late and Jean had no viable excuse to stay with him, Breda was there to tell Havoc that those things didn't matter. What mattered, he'd explain, was that in the end, Roy came home to him, or he went home to Roy. And the time they spent together was worth more than any span of time they spent apart.

While that was a reassurance most often, it didn't stop Havoc or Mustang from minimizing that time not together.

So for months after the day Maes found out, time at the office was spent plotting. They snuck glances and winks and smirks, and then lunch breaks turned into searches for an empty conference room or broom closet or bathroom. They watched what they said, making sure to keep things friendly but not obvious, and more often than not they had to keep an eye on what came out of Breda's mouth more than each other's.

But they did watch each other. And through those first months of infatuation, their obsession kept them living through the work day to make it home later that night, if only for the comfort of the other man's company.

Though they would sit in an apartment, regardless of whose, and there was no superior or commanding officer, there was always a sort of tension that hung between them. Something unspoken they never drew attention to because they couldn't quite figure out what it was.

It became glaringly obvious to Jean for no apparent reason one night in his own apartment, lounging on his beat-up couch with Roy's head in his lap, the older man fading in and out of sleep.

Havoc never really felt good enough for Roy.

He'd never really realized it, but there it was, hanging over his head. Of course he'd never said it, and definitely wouldn't anytime soon, but he knew that he was always compared to previous lovers; he felt himself less experienced and no doubt less attractive, but he dealt with it. He'd reasoned with himself, convinced that he compared Roy to previous lovers as well, only that was never true until now.

The fact that Havoc realized that night was, since Maes had died a few weeks back, Jean found himself comparing this Roy to the Roy he used to love.

Havoc noticed a difference when Mustang grew to sleep more and more at his desk. He watched wrinkles form at the corners of the Colonel's already thin eyes, dark circles appear underneath those dark blue irises. Paperwork got finished in time though, which was unheard of, and at the end of the day he'd gather his belongings, sling his coat over his shoulders, and shuffle out of the office without so much as a word to anyone. Jean would watch despondently as the Colonel left.

They'd meet at one of the two apartments later that night, and normally they wouldn't do much. Roy cared too much, either about Jean's feelings or his own reputation, so they would still have sex, amazing sex, but it just started to feel different. Not that it was forced, and not that it was emotionless, Havoc just knew the man's mind and heart was elsewhere, so he half blamed himself for the feeling. He knew that having sex was the last thing he should be doing for or with Roy in the condition he was in…but he did it anyway. He didn't know much else.

Roy was disassociating himself from the world, but still he clung to Jean at night. In bed he slept with his hand fisted into Jean's shirt, his head buried in the younger man's shoulder. In the morning he nearly followed Havoc around whichever apartment they were in, showering when Havoc showered, dressing when he dressed. When he did that, Jean felt wanted, needed.

And then just like that, after precisely one month of dealing with a completely different lover, everything changed. As if a switch had been flipped, the old Roy was back. And while their trips to various unoccupied corners of HQ dwindled down to practically nonexistent, Havoc didn't mind. Because during those times, Roy instead tracked down people to harass, avoided Riza's scolds of not getting work done, and he cared enough to make himself useful, not wither away into nothingness.

Jean watched contentedly as the Colonel came back to normal, feeling almost proud that even if he hadn't done anything directly to get the man back on his feet, at least he'd witnessed it, been part of his life somehow.

But if they were distant earlier on in their relationship, it became even worse now. For reasons Havoc couldn't figure out, it seemed that Roy was intentionally ignoring him at the office. Suddenly he had a lot of projects and leads and business meetings…and their time alone was about as scare as their midday romps.

Havoc didn't suspect anything at first, or maybe he just tried to tell himself he didn't. But Roy was _happy_. He was always happy at the office, but he avoided Jean at every chance he could, and that was a feeling all too familiar to Jean.

So it didn't take long for it to set in, and then Havoc knew. He knew it was coming from the way Mustang was acting and he didn't need excuses or stories; he didn't want to hear them anyway. He'd have pretended to listen, but it all would have been lies and denial, so there wasn't a point. Jean knew it, and he told himself over and over and over again.

There were plenty of people more deserving of Colonel Roy Mustang's attention than inconsequential Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc.

So their last time was nothing, or at least it seemed that way since Jean couldn't remember a bit of it. That could have been because he didn't particularly _care_ to, but for that matter, he didn't want to remember the first time either, graceless and impulsive and _real_ as it was.

Because _fuck Roy Mustang._

Jean stood in that wretched hallway where on that night long ago they'd just been walking back for a drink. Where their hands brushed together, and Roy tripped over himself, and Jean thought it was accidental but it was just Roy's stupid way of getting in Jean's arms without the blonde actually knowing it. That desolate hallway, where there was a dent in the plaster from Jean's fist. Where he'd slammed the door behind him but didn't go anywhere, only collapsed onto the ground and wondered what the _fuck_ had just happened.

This didn't come out of nowhere.

He knew. They both knew well before this, just pretended not to, and made it seem like they were still keeping each other just for the fun of it. Pretending they were doing it because they just needed something different from their ordinary lives, because when they actually stopped to think about it they realized they simply completed each other.

So much for all the promises they made.

When two men who need nothing from anyone in life finally realize they just might need each other, they're inescapably damned. Jean realized that before Roy ever did. Mustang chose to ignore it, the stubborn man still acting as though it was all in good fun. Havoc knew this was coming. One of them was destined to ruin it for the other…and them both.

"Don't ever look at me again," Jean had said with a shaky voice, his hand trembling and nearly dropping the lit cigarette between his fingers.

"Havoc, come–"

"I want a transfer, and I want the fuck out of here."

Roy had no explanation for Jean. He wanted to explain that there wasn't anyone else, that he'd been avoiding him just because he couldn't handle life anymore…but Havoc didn't need that. Mustang was the strong one _for_ Jean, so breaking down wasn't an option. Jean deserved better anyway, so Roy let him believe a lie. After all, he'd lied so many times before, about being alright, about being able to handle things, about being in love…Jean wouldn't have believed him anyway.

It's true when they say all our sins come back to haunt us in the end.

"Honestly Jean, we're over but we can still coexist."

"_Don't tell me what I can and can't do_. I want a transfer."

So much for their endearing pledges of loyalty.

Jean kept his straight face. He kept that cigarette puffing in and out of his lips; his hand batted the hair away from his eyes the way Roy always said was cute…and then he looked at Mustang in a way he never had, and a way he never thought he would.

"And I do love you; just let me say that now, Roy, so I never have another chance. I love you and I hope I never have to see you again."

It was his room, but Jean was the one that walked out.

Somehow as he sat staring up at the door from the disgusting hallway floor, fists clenched and body shaking, the younger man thought he heard a choked sob, but convinced himself he was mistaken. He told himself he knew the truth.

They had started this whole travesty just looking for a new beginning, or something different from where their lives had driven them. And though neither one now would ever admit it to the other, it was the ending that actually allowed them the chance for something new.

Havoc wasn't waiting for an apology, just like Mustang wasn't waiting for thanks.

They both realized that night on opposite sides of the same wooden door that you can't relax, and you can't rely on anyone for anything, because everyone will let you down. Maybe that came from the feeling they were both inherently plagued with, of always being at war with someone or something – critics were always watching, and they always had something to lose.

The point was, they were too busy thinking of everything that didn't matter to realize that in the end, what they were going to lose was each other.

Jean got himself up off the ground. He brushed his pants off, wiped his face quickly and took a deep breath. And even though he didn't expect an answer he said it aloud, feeling that's what he needed for this to be real, for it to come full circle and end so he could begin again.

"Goodbye."

He was sure that he heard a stifled cry then, but Havoc walked away. The silence that loomed at the end of the hallway was like another new beginning, and it would comfort him. Somehow it felt like he'd waited for that silence for a long time.

And maybe he had.


End file.
